


And You Cried

by amyfortuna



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Grief, Healing, post Journeys End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-01
Updated: 2009-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the conclusion of Series 4, the Doctor comes to see River Song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And You Cried

**Author's Note:**

> This is totally my personal canon - he did seem a lot more cheerful by the time we got to The Next Doctor.

Whatever you do, don't do this. Don't raise your head from your hands after an eternity of silence and look around at your empty TARDIS in a daze. Don't rise, and set your coordinates for the only thing in your future that you know will happen.

Don't come to see me, Doctor, white-faced and grim, silently holding out a hand. Don't shiver as I take it; don't set your lips tighter as if lost in memory.

Don't stay silent as we fly together. And when we step out of the doors of your TARDIS onto a majestic wind-swept landscape, don't pull me to you like you're drowning and I'm your anchor.

And when you finally whisper words, don't let them be of loss and pain and grief. Don't tell me this is the last time we will spend the night together. Don't tell me how your companion was lost; don't let me know the name Donna Noble.

As the Towers sing, don't kiss me. Don't let me taste the salt of tears on your lips. Don't cry on my shoulder, silently, or wet my dress with tears, don't let me hold you and whisper soft words of comfort.

Don't give me that, your screwdriver, built especially just for me. Don't tell me I'll need it where I'm going. Don't look so afraid. Don't tell me to call for you and you will come.

Don't bind me to you with ancient ceremonies. We've married enough, on seven different worlds with seven different words; we do not need another to know what we know together. Don't speak un-translated Gallifreyan in my ear; don't let me whisper those words back to you, knowing what they mean.

Don't tell me your name. Don't give me the secrets that name holds, or let me know why you hide it.

Whatever you do, don't do this.

Don't tell me that you love me under the Singing Towers for every minute of this night. Don't leave me in the morning, and don't smile that secret-hiding smile, that brave face you put on the world. Don't do this.


End file.
